You Were Romeo
by theytalktome
Summary: Across the room at what had to be the most uninteresting party John's eyes catch someone he's over looked before.... Slash: JBL / CM PUNK


John Layfield disregarded every last person as he strolled through the banquet hall. His eyes fell onto everything with general disinterest. His fellow wrestlers had kept busy on the dance floor with their wives, boyfriends, whatever it was that they had. They all looked like idiots to him. Getting some alone time proved to be more difficult than he realized; pushing aside the chain link curtains. It seemed like every last inch of space had been taken up by somebody.

As he stepped out onto the balcony it proved to be much too cold, with the wind rolling off the freezing lake and flickering over his face and hands. A cigar found it's way from the inside of his pin-stripe suit jacket. A lighter failed to exist in every pocket that had been searched. He turned around and scanned over the hall he'd come through - littered with people who couldn't make a simple choice to go into the ball room or get out of the damned crowded hall. Surely out of the pile of meaningless low life's there was someone he knew.

Auburn eyes came to settle on one person; and for a moment every insignificant person had become invisible. He hated that he couldn't look away - and he was glad that his dead stare had gone unnoticed while he looked over every desirable feature this person suddenly had. The glow from the chandelier in his hazel eyes weakened his knees.

The perfect flawless skin of his neck, jet black tresses falling around the soft skin to his shoulders and swept behind perfectly shaped pierced ears. His side burns cut a clean square, separating his goatee and mustache; with just a little scruff between that probably meant he hadn't taken to shaving it today.

He sank back onto the balcony rail, eyes focused on the way he swept his black bangs aside while he spoke. John grinned when they fell back into his face and he looked slightly frustrated at it.

John breathed in heavily, failing to release it until his lungs began to feel weak. Never had he needed to convince himself of anything - but suddenly he had. He fought every emotion in his mind, and if anybody had been looking at him they would have seen the panic darting through his face until he was tired of making himself wait.

With an adjustment of his tie he walked back to the french doors and threw doubt behind him. Now he hadn't just been pushing past people - he was shoving them out of his way. His shoulders naturally straightened themselves as his arms swayed with the new confidence he'd convinced himself he had, and the first step to that had been his reflection in one of the mirrors on the wall.

He stood behind the man; saying nothing but staring his friends down until they politely excused themselves away from the two. John announced his presence with a "Hello" and was met with the most confused look he'd ever seen on anybody's face. Silence fell between them and the seconds felt like hours until he realized that his enchantment had turned and walked away. He followed after him immediately, reaching out and grabbing him by the hand. He didn't have anything to say to him, and he couldn't answer anything he was asked - he didn't know what he was doing and that was the truth.

...John settled for offering him the cigar in his other hand; his face flushed with rejection and feeling like he had a neon sign that said idiot over his head.

"I don't smoke," he took his hand back and left to find his friends.

Dazed and humiliated, he made his way back to the ball room and sat at his assigned table. The beer in front of him found it's way down his throat the minute he was in arms reach of it. His emotional state had been questioned by his former tag-team partner when he loosened the tie that had a strangling hold around his neck, and his response had been wordless as he ordered - demanded - the waitress bring him another, and then something much stronger because he absolutely needed it.

Surely, he figured, he'd had more than enough drinks before he thoroughly embarrassed himself and imagined himself being attracted to his fellow superstar that made his way down the stairs and into the ball room again, stopping at the floor length windows to check out what massacre the Heartbreak Kid and The Game had started. John rose up from his seat just as the waitress had brought his drink, he looked at his friend as he picked it off the table, holding the stem of the glass between his middle and ring finger. He smirked and nodded his head towards the windows, making sure that his friend would see him get what he wanted.

Hazel eyes glanced up behind him, his head turned slightly when he realized that John was back, looming over him again. He wished that he'd been outside - anywhere but next to that man. John had set to rambling on about himself, and the Apocalypse happened - he'd run out of things to say. He remained silent, obviously annoyed and when he had went to leave for the second time he was grabbed back and offered the glass. "I don't drink." He rolled his eyes and sized up the older man, annoyance in his voice as he accused him of being shook up on cocaine, and he'd save him the trouble by informing him he didn't do drugs.

John breathed in, his eyes closed as he massaged his temples; dumping the liquor down his throat and giving the glass to who ever it was that walked by. He took a deep breath and wrapped an arm around his waist, pretending that he had been winning him over with the reminder that his friend had been watching. The straight edge star shrugged him off violently, walking off just to be followed even closer. John tried hard to convince him to go out back with him - to the only place that hadn't been over run by people due to the cold weather and away from the mini-party just outside the doors.

Punk set to using every fan-girl eluding technique in his arsenal until running away seemed like it was the best option that he had. John loved to taunt everybody; he was naturally a jackass - but this was different. He was chasing. John never chased. John never went after anybody unless they were near and it was an convenience for him to do so. Punk had given him no reason for this, and couldn't come up with a reason that he would. He figured the cigar thing was a joke - he couldn't have really forgotten that he was straight edge, could he? He couldn't have been that closed off on information that had nothing to do with him - unless it was humiliating to the other person... then he just had to know.

With a sharp turn around a corner, and dodging behind several people he was out of sight...

Punk closed his eyes, leaning up against the wall, breathing in a heavy sigh of relief. His eyes shot open when he felt a pair of hands grab his arms, a smirk was played on his face as he leaned closer to the frightened superstar: one hand left his arm, cupping his cheek, his thumb ran up and down his jaw line as he leaned in closer, he closed his eyes and his lips met piercings for the first time. It felt amazing despite the younger man not kissing back - he hadn't expected him to; but he was glad he didn't struggle against it for the twenty seconds it had lasted. John stared into his brown eyes once he pulled away from the kiss and let go of his arms. He gave him a slow nod, turned, and walked away.

Layfield no longer knew exactly how many drinks he had put away in order to deal with the sudden feelings he felt for the tattooed rebel. He looked up at his friend when the empty glass hit the table cloth, he'd been staring at him with his eyebrows raised. He knew something was up and John wasn't talking. A half hour later, he was swerving in between beginning to tell and stopping before revealing anything to him. He picked his head up off of the table to order another drink when his eyes met Punk's, who cocked his head towards the door and left. John's eyes widened as his feet brought him to stand instantly. Nervously; he adjusted his tie, fixed his hair and shot a glance to Simmons' who had figured it all out with out needing the whole story, he gave him a pat on the back, sending him on his way.

John opened the door, peering out into the lamp lit path. His hands fumbled with the buttons on his suit as he made his way to the bench he was seated on. Tattooed fingers grasped the lapel's of the investor's suit, pulling him nearly on top of himself and letting him feel how much more interesting a kiss was when there was a tongue ring involved. It'd gotten sloppy and heated fast, and before John knew it he was dominating Punk, a lot faster than the planning he imagined - and they had both toppled over the bench and fallen into the grass. Unfortunately for the two, their not so subtle and behaved actions had drawn the attention of many people inside, most who couldn't see clearly out into the night fog and called other people over to see the "fight" - and out stormed the King of the Ring; furious. Before Bradshaw knew it, he was grabbed by the collar and thrown aside like a piece of trash, he got up with a fierce punch to the Englishman's gut and got knocked back on his ass, scrambling back to his feet; red and shaking with fury.

Blue eyes burned into CM Punk as he grasped his arm tight, pulling him from the ground and dragging him back inside. He struggled against it, looking back to his clandestine lover. His mind raced with thoughts and came to the conclusion that nothing had been more phenomenal than a kiss from JBL. Nothing felt more right and so passionately wrong at the same time. He yelped out for him before a hand was slapped tight over his mouth; hushing him instantaneously.

In the crowded parking lot, JBL's longhorn garnished limousine was ready to roll; only he wasn't. His eyes scanned over and over the parking lot again and again, people had been coming and going but again not one idiot he'd been interested in. Imagination ran rampant with fairy tales of how things would go from there, and he'd convinced himself that he was right. He was John Layfield, after all. He got what he wanted, and he was never wrong. His imagination must have been right. It had to be. He prayed it would be.

Punk was forced to sit at the table with Regal. Forced to listen to some speech he'd been giving him about John. He refused to listen to anything he said, he wasn't a child. He could make decisions - this one wasn't particularly thought out as it should have been but that wasn't his call to make. He waited for John to burst through that door, he watched it intently regardless if Regal commented constantly that he wasn't about to walk through there. He wanted him to kick the door down and then kick his ass down - but that would come no matter what, even if it hadn't come right now. He watched the extravagant clock lingering in the corner, every minute passed by he was hoping John heard what he was trying to say before he had a mouth full of England.

Hanging on the borderline of boredom and hope, John was laid across the limo seats, staring at the ceiling and twirling the white cowboy hat on his index finger. He listened to Punk, for the first time, shouting and struggling against Regal until he was silenced. He heard what he said, and hoped he hadn't just said it because he knew he could have led him on if he wanted to. His faith collapsed further with every time he sat up, observing the lot and sighing with defeat each time. He settled on plotting his way to get back at his attacker and came to the perfect decision when he saw the raven haired fox darting across the parking lot - just as he said he would. John opened the door, demanding the chauffeur he floor it the second the man was in. Within seconds of the door slamming Punk's sudden guardian was charging down the steps of the entrance shouting savagely.

John's rehearsed words failed him, the second he opened his mouth every word was gone. His eyes looked over his new possession as the limo tore down the road at his command. His eyes sparkled with the charm he was attempting to drive across - and the fact that he couldn't find words was almost charming enough. His strong arms wrapped around his body, straddling him on his lap. With a hand grazing across his cheek and running down his jawline it almost seemed like he was being carefully inspected in the neon light for imperfections.

The straight-edge star couldn't take waiting a second later, they'd made it out of the mess earlier to finally be alone. Of course there was a lot to talk about - he certainly was not going to make himself off as a whore for this, but even John was better than that. He pushed Layfield into the seat, his crooked smile flashed irresistibly and John's hand entangled up into his black hair, pulling him closer and letting their lips finally meet.


End file.
